


With Brooding Wings

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Halloween, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Loneliness will sit over our roofs with brooding wings."</i> </p><p>Historia isn't Lucy and Ymir isn't Dracula.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Brooding Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Wishing everyone lots of candy and whatever else it is you want from Halloween. 
> 
> (Fun writing tip: take your title from a Dracula quote to instantly seem less like trash!)

The wind blowing in through the open window is surprisingly warm considering how late in the year it is. It brings with it the smell of autumn; of the fallen leaves and the apples that litter the ground around the trees. Historia is certain she will have no problem falling asleep. The wind feels like a gentle hand, caressing her face and playing with her hair. Yes, it definitely will be so much easier to fall asleep if she doesn’t feel quite so alone.

Not that she is alone quite yet. Sasha is still bustling around, laying out clothes for the next day, making sure everything is in order before she leaves for the night. She steps toward the window and Historia, though she’s been feigning sleep up until that point, calls out.

“Leave it, please.”

Sasha jumps almost comically as she turns from the window and toward the bed.

“Goodness, miss,” she laughs, hand clutching at her chest, “I thought you were asleep.”

Historia puts on her best apologetic smile, though she’s not sure how well it can be seen in the dim light.

“Sorry, Sasha,” she says, “It’s just, would you mind leaving the window open?”

It is immediately clear that yes, Sasha really would mind leaving the window open. She looks absolutely scandalised.

“I-I think we’d better not, miss,” she says. Then, lowering her voice, “Do you know what tonight is?”

Historia is fairly certain she knows where this is going. She doesn’t know much about Sasha, but she does know that the girl is extremely superstitious. A few weeks back, Historia had accidentally spilled some salt and Sasha had instantly lost her usual calm. She’d practically begged Historia to throw some salt over her shoulder—the left, she’d been sure to specify. Historia had obliged, even if she felt like a fool doing so. After that, Sasha had set about cleaning up the salt, all the while apologising profusely for her “unbecoming behaviour.” Historia hadn’t minded so much. It had added some colour to an otherwise dull day. And certainly, it had given her a better idea of just what kind of a girl Sasha was. She had already known, of course, that Sasha had grown up on a small farm near the edge of a forest. It wasn’t hard to imagine the girl’s parents telling her stories of the ghouls and goblins that lurked in the forest. Certainly stories like those would be more likely to keep her out of trouble than simply telling her that there might be wolves.

“The thirty-first of October?” Historia suggests, not wishing to deprive Sasha of her dramatic revelation.

“It’s All Hallows’ Eve!”   

Historia has plenty of things to say, most of them questioning what that has to do with the state of her window. She doesn’t say any of them, however, so Sasha speaks again.

“There are spirits and ghouls about tonight, miss. I really think you’d better have it closed.”

Her tone is authoritative; certainly she sounds sure of herself in a way she seldom does.

Historia decides that arguing is pointless. It’s not like she can’t get out of bed and reopen the window once Sasha has left.

“Alright, then,” she sighs.

Sasha turns once again to the window and pulls it shut; making sure that the bolt is securely in place. She seems to relax once she’s sure it’s locked. It’s strange, thinks Historia, how simply shutting a window is supposed to keep the monsters out. Then again, there isn’t really anything rational about any of these superstitions. But, if it will make Sasha feel better, she can go without the feeling of wind on her face for a few minutes.

“Well then,” Sasha says, “I guess I’ll be off.”

She takes one more quick look around the room, checking to see if there’s anything she’s missed, and gives the window a quick push to make sure it really is closed. Satisfied that everything is as it should be, she gathers up a few things and heads toward the door of the room.

“Goodnight, miss,” is the last thing Sasha says before exiting the room.

Historia resists the urge to jump out of bed and reopen the window immediately. It will be a few more minutes before Sasha makes it out the front door, and the last thing she wants is for Sasha to look up and see her window open. She’d probably run right back up and close it again. No, she has to wait. Just a little longer.

It’s stupid, really. Sasha’s a nice enough girl, but she can be a complete fool sometimes. The only real danger on All Hallows’ Eve is drunken revelers who get idiotic ideas about what would be funny. Even then, it’s hardly fair to say that one particular night is more dangerous than any other. There are drunken idiots out and about every night. If there’s anyone Sasha should be concerned about, it’s herself. She’s the one who walks home in the dark night after night.

At that point, Historia figures Sasha is far enough away to not notice a window being opened. Honestly, she’s probably waited all this time for nothing. If she were Sasha, she wouldn’t be looking back at the house after she left; she’d just want to hurry home.

The instant she pushes the window open, the warm breeze carrying those lovely scents hits her. It’s even more pleasant now that she’s closer to the window and not hiding beneath thick blankets. The wind is moving over all of her body, not just her face. It’s a warm, loving embrace, and Historia can’t decide if she wants to laugh or cry. It’s nice, it’s so nice, but it’s just the wind. It only feels like an embrace because she wants it to.

A shiver runs through her body, and Historia suddenly feels that maybe the best place for her is buried beneath her blankets. She makes sure the window is as wide open as it can be, then practically jumps into bed.

She tries to stop thinking, tries to sleep. Her eyes are closed as tight as they can be, but it’s not helping to quiet her brain. Sasha’s words echo in her mind, which is just stupid. She doesn’t believe in monsters. Besides, even if something were to come in through her window, would it really be so bad? Her father would probably prefer a less dramatic death, but he certainly wouldn’t be upset if something were to happen to her.

The thought puts her strangely at ease. The idea that no matter what happens, it doesn’t really matter is actually quite a nice one. In her mind she’s almost defiant. Yes, her window is open, and she dares any sort of monster to come in and see how little it matters.

She tosses and turns for a little while, before her mind finally quiets down. She falls asleep, focusing on the feeling of a warm airy hand resting on her cheek.

* * *

 

It’s cold when Historia wakes up. She doesn’t open her eyes, she just hugs her knees to her chest, hoping that she can warm up and get back to sleep. If she opens her eyes then she really will be awake. If she keeps them closed maybe she can just sink back into her dreams. She was having such a nice dream, too. She can’t remember it, but she hopes she can get back to it if she just keeps her eyes closed.

Except she can’t ignore the cold. The warm hand on her cheek is freezing now, almost like ice. She really should just close the window. But the hand seems heavier somehow, like the warm air grew more solid as it cooled. That’s foolish and she knows it; she’s just tired and cold. Once she closes the window she can fix both of those things.

She opens her eyes slowly, because she really can’t manage to do it quickly when she’s so tired. If she wasn’t frozen before, she is when she sees what’s sitting on her bed. It’s a girl, probably not much older than her, but certainly much different. She’s so, so pale, with a tinge of blue to her skin like she’s been out in the cold too long. Her face is covered in freckles that look incredibly dark against her blue-white skin. Dark hair hangs down around her face, partially obscuring her eyes. Her mouth, all blood red lips and sharp teeth, is completely visible.

Historia’s mind is working too slowly. She should have realised sooner. The hand. The frozen hand resting on her cheek. It must be this girl’s.

She doesn’t look. She doesn’t want to see because she doesn’t want to scream. Instead, Historia closes her eyes and mentally apologises to Sasha for not listening to her. She just hopes that no one blames Sasha when she comes in in the morning to find Historia’s lifeless body.

Historia’s mind may be working slowly, but it’s still working. This girl is almost certainly a vampire, and Historia is almost certainly her next meal.

Almost as soon as Historia thinks it, it happens. She feels surprisingly warm breath on her neck. Even without looking she knows that the girl—no, the vampire—is leaning in. She tries to keep her breathing steady, tries to make it seem like she’s still asleep and blissfully unaware. What happens if you interrupt a feeding vampire is a mystery to her, but it probably isn’t good.

It doesn’t hurt when the teeth break her skin. She can feel it, but it’s really no worse than a mosquito bite. And that’s all a vampire really is, isn’t it? An oversized mosquito.

It’s warm. The vampire’s hand is so cold, yet her mouth is so warm. She begins to suck gently at Historia’s neck and blood slowly flows out of the two tiny punctures. It almost feels nice. The cold hand is still on Historia’s face, holding her still so the vampire can drink. It’s cold, but it’s a hand touching her. It’s slowly killing her, but there are lips pressed against her skin. It’s the closest she’s ever come to a loving touch, and it’s from a monster. Historia wants to laugh at how pathetic she is, but she’s meant to be asleep. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe she’s feeling lightheaded because of that, and not because she’s finally, finally being touched.

But that doesn’t explain what she does next. If it’s just blood loss, then she should just lay back and wait to die.

The vampire suddenly stops sucking at Historia’s neck. Historia can feel the teeth scrape against her skin as the vampire starts to pull away. Her eyes fly open, and she can see the vampire still leaning over her. Without really thinking, she brings her arms to wrap around the vampire’s shoulders, hands both resting on the nape of her neck. She doesn’t have much strength, so maybe the vampire isn’t resisting when Historia pulls her back down so she can feel warm breath over her neck again.

“Don’t stop,” Historia pleads.

It’s warm and wet on her neck, but the blood flow seems to have stopped, or at least slowed considerably. It feels different now, but still strangely nice. Historia keeps her hands on the vampire’s neck, keeping her close. She’s certain that when the vampire decides to break away there will be nothing that can be done to stop her, but until then she can pretend to have some semblance of control over the situation.

Historia focuses on the sensations. It’s become clear that the vampire isn’t drinking any more blood. It seems like she’s just licking up any last traces. It’s kind of soothing how her tongue works in circles around the small wounds on Historia’s neck. Soothing is not, perhaps, how most people would describe having a vampire’s mouth at their neck, but that’s what it is.

She can feel the words more than hear them as they’re mumbled against her skin.

“Do you want to die?” the vampire asks.

Her voice is deeper than Historia had expected, and somehow almost musical. It thrills Historia is a way she never thought a voice could. It makes her want to laugh, and cry, and tell this stranger everything she could ever want to know. It makes her want to hold her closer and have her whisper something, anything, into her ear. All she really wants is to hear it again.

“N-no, I- not really,” she manages, though really, she isn’t sure. Maybe she does.

“Not very convincing. Alright, you don’t want to die; maybe you just want to hurt someone?”

The vampire moves away from Historia’s neck again, and this time there isn’t anything to stop her. She looks down, and her eyes bore into Historia. Historia gets her first good look at the vampire’s eyes. They’re almost pure black, just a hint of blood red in the centre. They’re not right, they’re not human, but they’re beautiful and Historia can’t look away.

“No one ever accomplished anything by dying,” the vampire says with a sad laugh, “Trust me, I’ve tried it.”

“You-” Historia starts, but she really doesn’t know what to say. So she doesn’t say anything. Instead she sits up, keeping eye contact all the while, moving slowly closer and closer to the vampire. Their noses are touching, and the vampire is still just sitting there, doing nothing.

“Are you lonely too?” Historia whispers.

She isn’t thinking, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she doesn’t care. She surges forward, closing the small gap between them, pressing her lips to the vampire’s.

The vampire’s lips taste like blood. Historia’s blood. It feels absolutely filthy tasting herself on the lips of this creature. It’s exhilarating. The vampire isn’t doing anything; she’s just sitting there, letting Historia’s mouth move furiously against her own.

All of a sudden, the vampire’s hands move, resting on Historia’s shoulders, and she thinks that maybe she’s going to be pushed away. She does feel herself being pushed backward, but not away. The vampire’s lips stay on hers, as she guides them gently down to the bed. It’s not as uncomfortable as one might imagine, having a vampire on top of you. The vampire’s body is cold, but Historia hardly notices it because her lips aren’t cold, and now they’re moving too.

It tastes even more of blood as the vampire’s tongue finds its way into Historia’s mouth. She doesn’t mind, she really doesn’t.

It’s just so nice, and she doesn’t want it to stop, and she’s getting so tired, but her lips keep moving. It tastes like blood, and she just wants to sleep.

“Historia,” she thinks she hears the vampire whisper. She can’t be sure, though. She can’t even be sure that she’s not dreaming.

* * *

 

“Good morning, miss!”

Sasha’s voice is far too cheery for so early in the morning. It doesn’t help that Historia has woken up with an absolutely awful headache.

“Good morning, Sasha,” she replies, as pleasantly as she can manage.

As if just having a headache wasn’t enough, there is also the faintly unpleasant taste of blood in her mouth. Strange. She’ll have to ask Sasha for some water once she gets her to open the window.


End file.
